Chapter Text
Growing up in El Paso was a lonely life for Eddie Diaz. Born in November 1991 to Ramon and Helena Diaz, Eddie was the pride and joy of his family, for 11 months, 3 days and 7 hours to be exact. Then his sister, Sophia was born. She became Helena’s primary focus, leaving Eddie in the dust. Sure, she took care of all his basic needs, but she was cold in all ways Eddie wished she wasn’t.
His father was never around. Ramon worked in oil, and travelled all the time, leaving Helena alone at home with 2 young children. Eddie was a quiet child. He was thoughtful and sensitive, a trait that Ramon detested.
Helena decided early on that she wanted to maintain her very active social life, so Eddie and Sophia were often dropped off at their paternal grandparents house for hours at a time, so Helena could go get her nails done, or her hair done. But Eddie didn’t mind. In fact, Eddie loved it.
The only times Eddie Diaz felt love and like he could be himself was when he was with his Abuela Isabel and Abuelo Edmundo, who referred to Eddie as his “Mi Mini Yo” - his Mini-Me. Eddie adored his Abuelos more than anything in the world. For Eddie, his Abuelo and Abuela were more than just grandparents. They were his refuge.
Growing up with a father like Ramon, whose approval always seemed out of reach, and a mother like Helena, who rarely offered warm beyond surface-level affection, Eddie found himself gravitating towards the steadiness of his grandparents.
Abuela Isabel, with her soft hands and softer voice, made Eddie feel like the most important person in the world whenever she looked at him. Her kitchen was always warm, always filled with the smell of simmering Pozole and fresh tortillas, and she never cared if he spilled flour or tracked dirt across her clean floors. No, she’d smile at him, wipe his face on her apron, and tell him mistakes just meant he was learning. To Eddie, his Abuela’s cooking wasn’t just food - it was love, comfort and proof a home could be gentle.
His Abuelo, Edmundo, was a quieter man of few words, but he never needed to say much. Eddie idolized him, the way kids do when they see someone steady and strong who still makes time to crouch down and tie their shoe. Edmundo once worked in oil, just like Ramon. But unlike Ramon, who was hard edges and expectations, Abuelo was patient, calm and always ready to listen. When Eddie visited his grandparents home, he was his Abuelo’s shadow, his mini-me, always following him around the yard, holding up oil-stained tools with hands too small to be useful, but was never once told he was in the way. If Eddie sat in silence, his Abuelo sat with him. If he asked questions, the older man answered with care.
As Eddie got older, the divide between his parents’ expectations and his grandparents' love grew sharper - more obvious. His Abuelo and Abuela gave him permission to be a child, whereas his parents demanded perfection. They made him feel like his laughter was welcome, not a distraction, that his dreams were worth having, even if they didn’t fit the perfect Diaz mold that Ramon had decided on.
When Eddie was almost 10, his mother had another child - his baby sister, Adriana. Ramon was once again off working and Eddie was stuck at home, grounded for some insignificant indiscretion that Ramon disapproved of. Helena went into labor on a Wednesday evening, and told Eddie to get help. Ramon had told Eddie on numerous occasions that when he wasn’t there, Eddie was to be the man of the house. Step up and be the person his family needed. So at 9 years old, when his mother asked him to get help, Eddie did the only logical thing. He took the car keys from the kitchen counter, started the family car and drove the car straight through the garage door.
Helena managed to call herself an ambulance, and between contractions, scowled at her son. Adriana was born that night, and Eddie had never felt like more of a disappointment.
By the time Eddie became a teenager, Isabel and Edmundo weren’t just family. They were the reason Eddie believed in gentleness at all. They gave him a vision of love that was patient, forgiving and unconditional. When Eddie thought of home, it wasn’t the house he lay his head down in at night. No, it was the kitchen table, filled with all his favorite foods. It was pottering around in the backyard, laughing with a cold glass of homemade lemonade. It was the arms wrapping around him in an embrace filled with pride after a hard day. It was Edmundo and Isabel Diaz.
At 12, Eddie Diaz already knew what was expected of him. Church on Sundays, polite answers in school, the perfect son and brother at home. Respect his father’s authority and obedience to his mother’s unending disapproval. And somewhere in all of that, was the unspoken rule that one day he’d find a nice catholic girl, get married and keep the Diaz family line going the way it always had.
But Eddie also knew something else. Something that he daren’t even whisper in the privacy of his own brain. He knew it when he caught himself staring at the older boys on the baseball field or the ballroom dance halls, the way his stomach would flip in ways that were nothing to do with the competition. He knew it when his friends passed around the magazines they’d stolen from their dads or older brothers, and Eddie would just smile and nod, playing pretend, but the spark never lit.
The guilt came as quickly as the feelings. Every time he lingered on a thought he knew he wasn’t supposed to have, he imagined confession. He pictured the priest’s solemn face, the quiet Hail Mary’s he’d be given, the shame that would follow him out of the booth like his own shadow. At night, lying in bed, he whispered to God about how sorry he was. He promised he would be better, that this was just a phase and he didn’t mean it.
But deep down, Eddie knew he couldn’t change it. The feelings weren’t going away. And while part of him was terrified of what that meant in a house where his father measured worth by tradition and his mother measured by appearances, another part - a quieter, stubborn part - began to wonder if God hadn’t made a mistake at all.
That part of him reminded him of his Abuela’s soft words, “Eddito, God doesn’t make broken things. He makes people who need love.” She’d said it once when he’d fallen in the yard and scraped his knee, but it stuck with him, echoing louder than any sermon about sin and fire. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t wrong. He was Edmundo Ramon Gabriel Diaz. He was Eddie.
And though he couldn’t say the words out loud yet, not with the weight of his father’s expectations on his shoulders, he whispered to himself in the dead of night, when his mother and sisters were asleep and his father God knows where this week.
“I like boys.”
It was terrifying. It was freeing. It was Eddie’s truth, even if it had to be tucked away in the privacy of his own mind. For now.
The garage smelled like motor-oil and sawdust, sunlight spilling in thin lines through the cracks in the door. Eddie was thirteen, sitting cross-legged on the cool concrete floor, while his Abuelo worked at the workbench. The steady rasp of the sandpaper against wood filled the silence, a sound Eddie had always found comforting.
“Hand me the rag, Mijo,” Edmundo said, nodding towards the stool beside Eddie. His voice was low and warm, the kind that didn’t demand so much as invite.
Eddie got up, passing him the rag. His chest tightened the way it had been for weeks now. He’d rehearsed this moment in his head a million times. Each attempt unraveled into silence before it reached his lips. But today - something about the way the light caught Abuelo’s silver hair, the ease of his shoulders - made him feel braver.
“Abuelo?” Eddie’s voice cracked a little.
Edmundo glanced up, eyebrows raised, but patient. “Hm?”
“I…I need to tell you something.” Eddie twisted his fingers together. He felt small, despite trying so hard not to. “But you can’t -” His throat tightened. “-you can’t tell Dad or Mom. Not yet.”
Edmundo sat down the sandpaper immediately. He turned, leaning against the bench and folding his arms across his chest, giving Eddie his full attention. “Okay. Not a word. Just me and you, Mijo. Go on.”
Eddie’s eyes dropped to the floor. His heart raced so fast, he thought it might break him. “I think… I think I like boys.”
The words hung in the air, fragile, like glass that might shatter if anyone moved too quickly. For a moment, Eddie couldn’t breathe. He waited for the disapproval. The disappointment. The weight of all the things he was doing wrong.
But then, his Abuelo smiled. Not a big, booming grin. No, it was something soft, something proud. “Ah,” Edmundo said quietly, nodding his head as though Eddie had just told him he liked a new flavor of ice cream. “Well. That explains why you’ve been so nervous lately.”
Eddie’s head snapped up. “You’re not…mad?”
“Mad?” Edmundo chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Why would I be mad that Mi Mini Yo knows exactly who he is? That is not something to be angry about. That is something to be proud of, Mijo!”
The tightness in Eddie’s chest cracked open, tears stinging his eyes before he could stop them. “But… but in church they say -”
“Church says a lot of things.” Edmundo interrupted gently. He crouched down so they were eye-level. “Listen to me, Eddie. God doesn’t make mistakes. And you? You’re the furthest thing from a mistake I’ve ever seen.”
Eddie’s lips trembled. “But what if Dad -”
“Your father loves you, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it. But what matters right now,” Edmundo said firmly, placing his hand on his grandson’s shoulder, “is that you know I love you and that I am proud of you. Always.”
For the first time in weeks, Eddie felt like he could breathe. He threw his arms around his Abuelo’s neck, burying his face in the smell of sawdust and soap.
Edmundo hugged him back, strong and steady. “You’ll figure out the rest when the time is right. Until then, this stays between us. You’re safe with me, Eddie. You’ll always be safe here, Mijo.”
Eddie pulled back, wiping his cheeks, but a tiny smile on his face now. “Thanks, Abuelo.”
Edmundo tapped his chest with two fingers. “Always, Mijo. Always.”
The living room felt too still, like even the air was holding its breath. Eddie sat on the couch between his sisters, Adriana clinging to her doll, Sophia’s hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist. Their parents stood in front of them, Helena’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, Ramon standing stiff as if he could hold the room together by force.
Helena and Ramon stood in front of them. Eddie didn’t miss how tightly his mom’s arms were crossed, or the way his dad’s jaw looked locked in place. It was enough to set every nerve in his body on edge.
Helena cleared her throat softly. “We need to talk to you about your Abuelo.”
Eddie froze, pulse hammering in his ears. Beside him, Sophia straightened up, already biting her thumbnail. Adriana just blinked, still too young to pick up on the gravity in her mother’s voice.
Ramon took over, his voice rough. “Your Abuelo was in an accident. A car hit him when he was walking home. The driver didn’t stop.”
Sophia’s breath hitched. “Is…Is he okay?”
Helena knelt down in front of her daughter, smoothing her hair back. Her hand shook. “No, sweetheart. He’s in the hospital. The doctors say… the doctors say he doesn’t have much time left.”
Adriana whimpered and crawled across the cushions until she was pressed against Eddie’s side. “No,” she whispered, muffled against his sleeve.
Eddie felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Just days ago, he had been in the garage with Abuelo, safe in the warmth of his voice, his acceptance. He couldn’t lose him, not like this, not so soon.
Helena’s voice broke through his fog. “We need to go. Right now. Say goodbye while we still can.”
Ramon’s hand landed on Eddie’s shoulder, heavy and awkward but firm. “Get your sisters ready.”
Eddie swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He pulled Adriana into his lap, squeezed Sophia’s hand tight. “We’ll go. We’ll be there.”
Sophia blinked at him, like she needed permission, and Eddie gave her a tiny nod. She leaned into him, finally letting her tears spill. Adriana clung harder to his shirt.
Eddie’s throat ached, but he forced the words out anyway, for them as much as for himself. “We’ll tell him how much we love him.”
The hospital smelled sharp and cold, antiseptic biting at Eddie’s nose as he followed his parents and sisters down the dim hallway. Every footstep felt too loud, every fluorescent light above them humming like it might burn out at any second.
When they reached the room, Eddie’s chest clenched. Abuelo looked so small in the bed, tubes and wires surrounding him like a cruel tangle. The steady beep of the monitor was the only proof he was still here. His warm, strong Abuelo - the man who used to lift him high into the air like he weighed nothing, who smelled like oil and sun - looked fragile.
Adriana whimpered and clung to Helena’s hand. Sophia just stared, stiff and pale, her jaw tight the way Eddie recognized from his own reflection.
Ramon cleared his throat, his voice breaking slightly. “Go on, say your goodbyes.”
Helena led Adriana forward, murmuring soft words Eddie couldn’t hear. Sophia followed, brushing Abuelo’s hand with trembling fingers before retreating quickly, like she couldn’t bear more.
When it was Eddie’s turn, he hesitated in the doorway. His parents watched him expectantly, but his body felt rooted to the spot. Finally, Helena touched his shoulder. “Take a minute, Eddie. We’ll wait outside.”
The door shut softly behind him, leaving Eddie alone with his grandfather.
He crept forward, pulling the plastic chair close to the bed, and slipped his hand into Abuelo’s. It was cool and dry, but still his. Still the hand that had steadied him when he learned to ride his bike. Still the hand that had squeezed his shoulder just days ago in the garage.
“Abuelo,” Eddie whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s me. Eddie.” He bit his lip.
The monitor beeped steadily. Abuelo’s chest rose and fell shallowly.
Eddie leaned closer, tears burning his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. They all said to tell you goodbye, but I can’t. I don’t want to.” His voice trembled. “You’re my best friend.”
The words spilled faster, like he was afraid if he didn’t say them now, he’d never get the chance. “I told you the other day, remember? In the garage? About me. About who I am. And you didn’t look at me any different. You just smiled at me. You said you were proud.” His tears blurred the pale outline of his grandfather’s face. “I needed that. I needed you to say that. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you.”
Eddie pressed his forehead to the back of Abuelo’s hand, his shoulders shaking. “I’ll make you proud, I promise. I’ll take care of Sophia and Adriana. I’ll be strong, the way you always told me to be. Just-” His voice cracked into a broken whisper. “Just don’t forget me, okay? Please.”
The monitor beeped steadily on, indifferent to his desperation. Eddie squeezed his grandfather’s hand tighter, as if he could anchor him here with sheer force.
Finally, he whispered the words he’d been avoiding, pressing two fingers to his Abuelo’s chest, like the man had done to him a few days earlier. “I love you, Abuelo. Always.”
He stayed there like that, hand in hand, until Ramon’s voice called softly from the doorway. Eddie wiped his eyes furiously and nodded, giving his grandfather’s hand one last squeeze before standing.
As he walked away, the sound of the machines followed him out, and Eddie felt like the world had shifted. Like part of him had been left behind in that hospital room.
The church was heavy with incense, candlelight casting long shadows against the vaulted ceiling. Eddie sat in the pew between Sophia and Adriana, his shoulders squared, jaw tight. He was thirteen now, not a little kid, but he still felt like his chest was caving in every time he looked at the casket at the front.
He wanted to be near Abuela Isabel. He wanted to stand with her, with Tía Pepa, to show that he was more than just Ramon’s son - that he was Abuelo’s grandson. But when he’d tried to move forward, Ramon’s hand had closed firmly on his shoulder.
“Stay with your sisters,” his father said in that no-nonsense tone that brooked no argument.
Eddie swallowed down the protest that rose in his throat. “But I - ”
“Enough.” Ramon’s glare cut sharper than the words.
Helena added quietly, “They need you, Edmundo.”
So he stayed. Eddie always stayed.
Sophia, twelve, was trying to be stoic, but he could feel her trembling beside him. Adriana, barely three, didn’t understand much beyond the tension in the air. She clung to Eddie’s hand, swinging her legs restlessly against the pew.
Eddie wrapped an arm around Sophia, pulling her against his side. “It’s okay,” he whispered, even though it wasn’t. “I’ve got you.” His other hand squeezed Adriana’s small fingers, grounding her, grounding himself.
When the priest spoke of Abuelo Edmundo’s life — his years working the oil rigs, his devotion to family, his steady kindness - Eddie’s throat tightened. He remembered afternoons in the garage, the smell of grease and wood, Abuelo’s quiet voice telling him he was proud. He remembered the day, not even a week ago, when he’d whispered the truth about himself - that he liked boys - and the way Abuelo had hugged him instead of turning away.
Now he was gone. And Eddie wasn’t allowed to fall apart.
When it came time to walk to the front for blessings, Ramon and Helena guided Isabel and Pepa ahead. Eddie longed to join them, to hold his abuela’s hand, to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. Instead, Ramon glanced back and said firmly, “Stay with the girls.”
Eddie’s jaw clenched. He wanted to yell that he wasn’t just a babysitter, that he was grieving too. But Sophia’s breath hitched beside him, and Adriana whimpered, tugging on his sleeve. He bent down, smoothing a hand over her hair.
At the casket, he let Sophia lean in for her last look, let Adriana cling to his arm while she peered over the edge, confused. Eddie stood back, hands steady on their shoulders, even though his chest burned with the need to say goodbye himself. He didn’t touch the casket, didn’t whisper a word. He just kept his sisters close, because that’s what was expected.
As the mass ended, Eddie caught sight of Abuela Isabel’s face. Her eyes searched the crowd, wet and hollow with grief. He wanted to run to her, to hold her the way she had always held him. But Ramon’s hand pressed firmly to his back, steering him toward the aisle with Sophia and Adriana in tow.
“You’re the oldest,” Ramon said under his breath, his voice hard. “You know your place.”
Eddie said nothing. He kept his gaze forward, guiding his sisters out of the church.
Inside, though, he felt something settle like stone in his chest: the realization that his grief didn’t matter. That his role wasn’t to mourn, but to carry. And at thirteen, Eddie Diaz decided he’d do it, because someone had to.
But in the pit of his stomach, resentment began to take root - not for his sisters, never for them - but for the parents who couldn’t see that he was still a boy who’d just lost his grandfather.
The house was quiet now, the kind of quiet that pressed against Eddie’s chest, making it hard to breathe. Sophia and Adriana had been tucked into their beds hours ago, still restless from the funeral, and Ramon and Helena were downstairs, murmuring in the living room about arrangements Eddie didn’t want to hear.
Eddie shut his bedroom door softly behind him, leaning against it for a moment. He couldn’t move yet. The day had been long, heavy, suffocating. He had carried his sisters, kept their hands steady, made them laugh when he could, but he hadn’t allowed himself even a single tear. Not in front of anyone.
Now, alone, the dam broke.
He sank to the floor beside his bed, knees drawn to his chest, head resting against the mattress, his hand covering his mouth in an attempt to muffle his cries. He didn’t cry loudly; there were no wails or screams. Just quiet, shuddering sobs, small and broken, that wracked his body but couldn’t be heard beyond the walls.
His mind went to Abuelo. The warmth of his hands when he taught Eddie to fix the old car, the quiet pride in his eyes, the way he had said, “I’m proud of you, Eddie,” even before he’d truly understood the weight of those words. That voice replayed in Eddie’s head, and tears fell freely down his cheeks.
He missed him so much it hurt, a hollow ache that stretched from his chest to his stomach. He wanted to scream, wanted to pound the walls, but the grief was too heavy for noise.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dark. “I didn’t say goodbye. I… I should’ve said goodbye.”
But he had kept his composure for everyone else. He had protected Sophia and Adriana, shielded them from the truth of the finality. Now, alone, Eddie allowed himself to collapse entirely. His shoulders shook. His hands clawed at the blanket beside him.
He thought about all the small moments he would never get back - cooking with Abuela, fixing things in the garage with Abuelo, the sound of his laugh when Eddie had told him a joke that only made sense to them.
He didn’t cry for hours. Just sat there, letting the tears fall silently, letting the weight of loss press down on him. In the dim light of his room, Eddie Diaz, at thirteen and wise beyond his years, realized that sometimes grief was not something you shared. Sometimes it was something you carried, quietly, alone, until it didn’t feel so heavy.
But in that quiet moment, just for himself, he let it all out.
The sun was high over the lake, turning the water into a sheet of glittering glass. Eddie adjusted the strap of his backpack and squinted at the reflection, trying to ignore the knot of nerves twisting in his stomach. He had come for a day away, somewhere quiet, somewhere he could just… breathe.
That’s when he saw her. A girl about his age, sitting cross-legged on a weathered dock, skipping stones and humming under her breath. She had a confidence about her, a kind of ease that made her seem like she belonged there, like she was part of the wind and the water.
“Hey,” she called, looking up. Her smile was bright, not forced, but honest. “You trying to land a stone on the other side?”
Eddie hesitated, then shrugged. “Uh… yeah. Something like that.”
She patted the dock beside her. “Sit. I’ll show you how to skip it.”
He did, sliding onto the wood with a tentative smile. She handed him a flat, smooth stone. “You gotta flick your wrist, not just throw. Here…watch.” She flicked her wrist, and the stone bounced three times before it kissed the far edge of the water.
Eddie blinked, impressed despite himself. “Whoa. Okay, I need… lessons, obviously.”
She laughed, a sound that bounced over the water. “Name’s Shannon,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Eddie,” he replied, shaking it. Her grip was firm, confident, and it felt… good, grounding.
For the next hour, they tossed stones, shared stories about summers that felt endless and full of possibility, and Eddie found himself laughing, really laughing, in a way he hadn’t in months. He told her about the little cabin near the lake, how he liked to swim even though he wasn’t great at it, how he was trying to be brave before freshman year.
Shannon listened, really listened, and Eddie realized he had never met anyone who made it feel safe to just be himself. He didn’t mention his parents’ arguments or the heaviness he’d carried for years. He didn’t have to. She didn’t ask. She just smiled when he smiled, and that was enough.
By the time the sun started to dip, turning the lake a shade of molten gold, Eddie felt lighter, somehow, like he’d made a small but meaningful connection.
“So… same time tomorrow?” Shannon asked, packing her stones.
Eddie grinned. “Yeah. Definitely. Thanks… for showing me how to skip stones.”
She winked. “It’s just the start, Eddie Diaz. Wait until I teach you the secret technique for double skips.”
And for the first time in a long time, Eddie felt a flicker of excitement for what the summer, and life, might bring.